


Dead Heat

by FrenchTwistResistance



Series: I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane [3]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I just want caos to be a sitcom where hot middle-aged ladies kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchTwistResistance/pseuds/FrenchTwistResistance
Summary: Hilda and Mary enjoy no-strings fun together. But an old vice of original Mary’s comes home to roost...
Relationships: Hilda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Series: I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597594
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Dead Heat

Hilda tells herself she’s not just using Mary for the hot tub. No, if she’s honest, she’s using Mary for the hot tub and for sex. And who else would let her drive so fast, let alone encourage her to do so? But she feels a little bad about it all anyway. She certainly doesn’t trust the woman, never talks to her about anything real. She wonders if she owes her that or if this is what this is and Mary doesn’t expect or want anything else from her than no-strings fun. She wonders, also, if she doesn’t owe it to her family to dig a little about this person’s murky background, for all of their safety. 

As she’s soaking in the hot tub, idly sipping on a mojito—Mary claims it’s best to drink something refreshing so you don’t fall asleep and drown, but Mary’s not helping the languid feeling by running her fingers soothingly through Hilda’s hair—thinking that her most responsible and therefore best course of action is to get to know Mary better so that she can examine her character, make sure she’s the kind of person who is worthy of mentoring her niece.

“I’ve been thinking…” Hilda starts.

“Hmm?” Mary says, and Hilda feels the reverberation against her back where she’s reclined against Mary’s chest.

“Just how irresponsible and downright dangerous do you think it was that Sabrina—”

“Uh uh,” Mary grunts her dismissal, and again Hilda feels it in her own ribs. “I thought we had a deal. No talking about children.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to that.”

“An unspoken agreement.”

“Well. What can we talk about, then?”

Mary removes her hands from her hair and pushes gently at her shoulders, works with the jets and the buoyancy to make enough space between them that she can push at just one shoulder now and turn her to face her.

“What about our relationship has suggested talking has been a goal of mine?” Hilda scoffs, is about to reply, but Mary’s eyes flash briefly. “It’s not that I don’t find you a sparkling conversationalist. It’s just that my interests are typically more… physical in nature.” Again, Hilda huffs an offended little puff of air, but again Mary amends: “I meant. Not only… that… but also, physical hobbies. Stealing pallets? Shooting guns? Playing basketball? You like using your body, too. Mostly focused on your hands, though.” She says the last bit suggestively and then adds, “Knitting, baking, etc. We can leave the talking to someone else, can’t we?”

Hilda considers this. It’s a fair point. She shelves the discussion. Perhaps they’ll come back to it later. Perhaps she’ll learn all she needs to know through actions. Perhaps this will fizzle out before then.

“Hmm, I guess,” Hilda says. “Besides, it’s hard work trying to get you to say something that isn’t a come-on, no matter the subject matter.”

Mary laughs and pulls her close, kisses her.

Hilda’s halfway to untying Mary’s bikini top when she hears a man’s voice:

“Please, ladies. Don’t stop on our account.” 

They both freeze and open their eyes, look at each other in surprise and alarm. Mary pulls back first, and Hilda worries about the knot she’s loosened, whether the jets will do the rest of the job and give these—she looks up and sees two nefarious-looking dudes in leather jackets, both holding .40 caliber pistols, standing a few yards away on the deck—toughs an eyeful.

“May I help you with something?” Mary says. “Directions away from my home, for example?”

The man who had spoken speaks again (It’s the same voice anyway. They could be twins for how much they look and stand alike. Maybe they sound alike, too):

“You are Mary Wardwell, aren’t you?”

“On Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and every other Sunday.”

“Very funny. I guess you don’t remember me.” Mary stares at him with a bored nonrecognition. “From Saratoga.”

“Afraid not. I’m usually so good with faces. Maybe I blocked yours out to retain my sanity.”

The other guy laughs, but the first guy’s face turns red. He points his gun at her, says,

“I don’t care what you think of my face. I care that you owe me money. And quite a lot of it.”

“Do you have any documentation for this?” Mary says haughtily, but Hilda’s squeezing her thigh under the water and then whispering in her ear:

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in, but he does have a gun. Maybe you should be a little more compliant?”

“No secrets between friends,” the guy says, pointing his gun at Hilda now. Mary subtly floats in front of Hilda, says,

“Firstly, she’s my friend, not yours. And secondly, she was simply urging me to be friendlier to you. Now. How much money do I allegedly owe? Do you accept personal checks?”

The guy laughs, says,

“Personal checks is how we got into this.”

“Oh?” Mary says, with a very real curiosity. The guy cocks his gun, says with a little froth on his lips,

“I don’t know if you’re playing stupid, you have amnesia, or you’re trying to get me to give the whole story so you can impress your girlfriend, but I’m about tired of it. I’ve given you plenty of time to pay up. Months. And now it’s cash or blood.”

Mary blinks. There’s some realization on her face and then anger and then cunning. Hilda watches all this play across her features, still squeezing her leg in apprehension. Mary places her hand over Hilda’s comfortingly, says,

“You’ve never wanted to impress a girlfriend?”

The other guy laughs, elbows the first guy. They exchange a glance, and the first guy loosens his posture a little, decocks the gun.

“Fine. Probably not a lot of excitement in this hick town.” He cranes his neck to address Hilda: “Your old lady’s got a taste for the ponies but a bad instinct for them. So there she is in Saratoga in her prim tweed skirt suit—all mousy, trustworthy schoolteacher asking if she can place her bet with a personal check. She’s got five grand on Awed-Toed Ungulate, but she loses, and how. Runs off, stops payment on the check. And I got mouths to feed and drugs to run. And I need my money.” He looks back at Mary. “Is that a good enough story to get you laid?”

“Make no mistake. I have no trouble getting laid—” Mary’s incensed voice starts.

“Sir?” Hilda cuts her off. “What if we went double or nothing? I know an-off-the-books sports betting place in town. We could square off and square up there.”

The men again exchange a glance and then a few mumbled words.

“No secrets between friends!” Hilda says. 

This is a bad idea, she knows. Getting into bed with a woman she hardly knows with a weird vibe and a shady past is one thing but proverbially getting into bed with gangsters… Well, she’s in this thing with Mary for the excitement and strangeness of it, and this other thing with Mary is certainly exciting and strange, much different than her humdrum regular life or the magic catastrophes of her recent life. To be in her own drama rather than a teenager’s. That’s worth something, at least. A secret, stupid, bad-idea thing that she can do as best she can without magic and then if the shit hits the fan clean up with magic. A nice, tidy memory spell, perhaps. No honor among thieves so no harm no foul.

The men stop conferencing. The first guy says,

“Let’s go. Get dressed.”

“Or don’t,” the other guy says, casually lewd.

Hilda is sitting on Mary’s lap in the men’s old Cadillac’s bench seat, squeezed uncomfortably between both men. There is a vacant and spacious back seat. But. The first guy’s reasoning had been that they wanted to keep an eye on them and the second guy’s reasoning had been that he wanted to see the blonde on the brunette’s lap. 

Hilda gives directions to a crummy old bar on the south side of town, leads them to a back entrance and then a set of metal stairs to the basement.

It’s smoky and dark with several tables full of men playing poker, and there are large TVs at one end behind a counter, with a listless old man smoking a cigar leaning on it looking through a newspaper but obviously not reading. He looks up when he hears the four sets of footsteps approaching.

“Spellman,” he says. “Not sure I’ve got enough in the till for you to be betting here today.”

“Oh no worries, Snake Eyes. Just using your facilities for a little side betting with some friends.” She winks, and he looks at the other three. He opens his Members Only windbreaker just enough to flash his Colt .45 in a shoulder holster to her and winks back, says,

“Always happy to host, baby.”

“Well!” Hilda says, clapping her hands. She scans the TVs, and finds the race she’s looking for. “This one all right for you boys?”

The men squint at the TV and then look at each other, mumble in each other’s ears.

“Sure it ain’t fixed?” Guy 2 says.

“You can borrow my readers if you can’t see the time stamp,” Mary says. Guy 2 rolls his eyes, and Guy 1 says,

“Ok. Tulips and Two Nostrils for us.”

Mary looks at Hilda. It’s an uncharacteristically pleading look, vulnerable. But it vanishes quickly as she threads her arm around Hilda’s waist and raises her eyebrows. Hilda takes the hint, says,

“And we’ve got Can’t Sing Tonight, Too Horse.”

Hilda and Guy 1 shake hands, and then they all turn to the screen, shouting at their respective horses.

It’s the last leg, and they’re neck and neck, jockeys straining, mares panting and sweating. A photo finish. The announcer says,

“It ain’t over until the fat lady doesn’t sing ‘cause she’s too hoarse!!!”

Mary kisses Hilda and picks her up to give her a spin. The men both groan. Guy 1 says,

“Skin of your teeth, Wardwell. But you’ll be back. You’ve got horseshit for brains, and this vixen you’re with now won’t tolerate you forever.”

“We’ll take a cab home. Goodbye, gentlemen,” Mary says.

“Oh no, love, not yet,” Hilda says to Mary. “This was double or nothing. They owe us money now.”

Guy 1 clenches his jaw, says,

“Do you take a personal check?”

“Afraid not, lamb,” Hilda says. He reaches for his wallet, and the old man at the betting counter surreptitiously places his hand on his piece inside his jacket.

Guy 1 takes $1500 out of his wallet and hands it to Hilda. He elbows Guy 2, who produces $700. Guy 1 says,

“It’s all we’ve got on us right now.”

“I’d rather fancy a trip to New York next weekend. Wouldn’t you, pet?” Hilda says to Mary.

“I’d love a reason to buy you an ostentatious hat,” Mary says.

Back at Mary’s house, they’re cuddled up on the porch swing. They don’t say anything about what they’ve learned about each other this afternoon. But Hilda’s contemplating the absolute stupefaction Mary had shown when the men had first appeared, how she had seemed genuinely not to know who they were or why they might’ve been there. A mystery to plague her when she inevitably wakes up in the middle of the night filled with anxiety and dread, not something to dwell on while enclosed in Mary’s unnaturally hot embrace, Mary’s deft fingers skimming along the underside of her breasts. She reaches up to trace Mary’s jaw, draw their faces closer.

“Hadn’t figured you for such a gambler,” Mary says against her mouth.

“Pot? Is that you? It’s me, Kettle,” Hilda says.

“It’s very sexy of you. Would you be interested in a little strip poker?” Mary says.

“If you’ve got the deck of cards, I’ve got the time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did I need a place to deposit all the crazy racing-horse names I come up with to keep my mind busy when I’m in boring situations? Perhaps.


End file.
